Seven Years
by Pukkina
Summary: When Lisa and Jackson find themselves in the midst of the biggest global catastrophe in history, they find the only thing left to do is search for answers. Left Behind crossover, also known as Unlikely on LB.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note-Hm. So I feel daring, since I am like, the first person to create a crossover of two completely different things. A movie about a psychopath holding a woman hostage on a plane, and a book about the end of the world and Jesus Christ. Don't look at me weird. I already have a pretty good idea of where I want this story to go, and personally, I think it's going to be pretty awesome. My favorite book+my favorite movie? Cheers. And by the way, I've voted myself the Queen of Crossovers. That's all I write lately, it seems:)**

"And in Charles Keefe's reinstatement press conference he stated of his conversion to Christianity in light of the recent attempts on the lives of him and his family. He quotes: 'I feel that God protected us that day. We so narrowly missed being hit by that bomb, it must have been in Jesus's plan that we live.'"

Lisa clicked off the tv in disgust. "It was a missile. And I saved your lives, you moron."

She tried not to feel so resentful. It was hard, though, in light of the recent events. After she'd nearly murdered Jackson Rippner in her own home after that eventful flight to Miami, he'd spent a brief time in the hospital being treated for various wounds caused by various instruments.

Then there was the trail. Or Black Friday, as Lisa chose to refer to it as. In short, he got off. Not enough evidence pointed towards his key role in the Keefe assassination. Plus, he countersued Lisa for his various wounds, and convinced the jury that she acted on some sort of mental disease. The evidence just didn't add up in Lisa's favor. So now, Jackson Rippner was just freely roaming the streets somewhere. Lisa didn't know where. He hadn't contacted her since they'd indirectly spoken during the trial. And this lack of communication alone was killing her.

She didn't know enough about him to determine whether or not he was the type for revenge. She truly hoped not. And it scared her, knowing he could be anywhere. Outside, watching her. That seat-kicker in the movies, the man who asked for money on the street. The shadow following her home.

So Lisa did the only thing she could think of. She worked. A lot. From early in the morning to late at night, and business trips had become increasingly more frequent.

Lisa slung her purse over her shoulder and dragged her suitcase behind her as she left the spacious room of her Chicago hotel. She really shouldn't have wasted those ten minutes watching the GNN Broadcast. Now she was increasingly late, and it wasn't like she'd gotten anything out of it. She wasn't even sure why Keefe had told everyone that. No one really cared about his religion except the fanatics anyway.

Lisa had grown up in an extremely religious household. Church on Sundays, baptism, and confirmation were all very big. Lots of talk of "being saved" and "walking in the light of the Lord" were very common. She pretended to go along with it, for her father's sake. But she'd always felt out of place and heathenistic. She felt that if there was a God, he would have protected her in the parking lot. She was a good person. As Jackson had said, sometimes bad things happen to good people. And they did. But if there was a God, and a Jesus Christ, they wouldn't let them happen.

The taxi ride to the airport was quick and Lisa ran to check in with five minutes to spare.

It was only when she finally slid into her seat, a window, that she let herself relax, leaning her head against the cool dark pane. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She heard a young man help an elderly couple with their bags a few seats ahead. The kind tone of his voice almost reminded her of Jackson, Jackson helping her, Jackson in the Tex Mex. But it was different, since he sounded sincere.

She heard someone sit next to her and buckle up.

"Ever flown Pan-Con before?" a raspy voice next to her asked.

Lisa opened her eyes and turned to her seatmate, a polite smile plastered on her face, and froze.

"Hey, Leese," Jackson Rippner's broad, self-confident grin was all she saw before it all went black.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Leese," Jackson Rippner's broad, self-confident grin chilled her to the bone. She quickly rose but he smoothly caught her wrist and sat her back down.

"Jackson, stay away from me," Lisa ordered shakily. "Just leave me alone."

"Hm," he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "No. I need you. And if you don't turn the volume down a little bit your mom dies. So just sit back until after takeoff, eh?"

Lisa's hands shook terribly but she remained silent as the captain spoke over the intercom.

"...sit back and enjoy. Looks like we're the 7018 to London, and I'm your captain Rayford Steele..."

When the turbulence had ended Jackson spoke again. "So let's cut to the chase. When we get to London you're going to make a little call. We can't when we're over the ocean, the phones don't work."

"Who are you murdering this time?" Lisa snapped.

"Chaim Rosenzweig. Ring a bell?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Lisa admitted. "Wasn't he the guy who invented that Israeli crop formula a while back?"

"Bingo," Jackson nodded. "By assassinating him, Israel is forced to hand over the formula to our clients, who then plan to peddle it to anyone who can pay."

"So not only are you killing, you're stealing," Lisa felt her stomach churn. "Do you have _any_ morals at all?"

"Uh..." he thought. "No? But what do you say?"

"Do I even have a choice?" she groaned, the tears starting up. Jackson noticed and frowned.

"Come on, now, I hate when women cry."

"Chauvinist."

"Cry-baby."

Lisa glared at him. "Excuse me for having emotions."

"Emotions only succeed in dragging you down, Leese."

"And what did narcism get you?" she snapped. "A pen in the throat and stiletto in the thigh? Yeah, that's working great for you."

"Well, it got me out of jail, didn't it?" he bargained.

"Yeah, speaking of which, I thought you said you never lied," Lisa sneered. "You lied to get your ass out."

"I didn't lie," he grinned. "A little money exchanged hands, a few deals were made."

"You bought off the jury?" Lisa said in bewilderment. "You...what..."

"I did," he nodded. "Well, not exactly _me_. The company. How's that mental disease doing, Leese?"

"Bastard," she muttered under her breath, sinking back into her chair and staring out the window.

He smiled contentedly and settled back for the ride.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chloe was tired. Yet she kept driving down the dark road, heading back home to her college in California. She was still slightly annoyed by the argument she'd had with her mother before heading home. The nerve. The nerve of Irene Steele to call her uncaring. Chloe cared. Oh, yeah, she cared all right. She cared that her mother had lost her _mind_.

Irene had been on what Chloe's father, Rayford, called a "Jesus kick" for years. She'd gotten Chloe's younger brother Raymie into it, too. Chloe thought it was all well and good that she had something to believe in, sure. But it was when she tried to get Rayford and Chloe involved that they got mad.

In short, Chloe wasn't big on the whole idea of religion. It was way too paganistic for her. And anyway, who gave a crap? She was just way too much of a dealer with facts. She had to see it to believe it...and could she see this Holy Triduum crap? No...

Chloe sighed as the sun began to come up. As she continued down the road, she swerved to avoid the crashed car in front of her. The car jerked to a stop and she caught her breath, shocked, then climbed out.

Looking ahead, she saw the devastation ahead of her. It wasn't just this car. The wreckage strewed on for miles, and fires were started. Luckily, she spotted some cops ahead.

"Hey, what's going on?" she shouted to one. He glanced at her, and she noticed numerous cuts on his tired, anxious face.

"Honestly miss..." he ran a hand through his hair. "I really don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

Lisa awoke when she heard the man in front of her speak.

"Trouble, miss?"

"Yes. My Harold's gone!"

"I'm sure he just went off to the restroom and will be right back."

"Would you mind checking?"

A pause. "Not at all."

"Oh, and could you take a blanket?"

"Ma'am?"

"I'm afraid he's gone off naked. He's a terribly shy man, he'll be embarrassed."

"Does your husband have epilepsy?"

"No."

"Sleepwalking?"

"No."

"I'll be right back." Lisa smiled to herself. What a nice man. She wished she met more like him.

Lisa stirred and Jackson stretched as several other people in the plane awoke. She leaned forward to peer into the old man's seat out of instinct. She gasped.

"Jackson," she choked out, pushing his arm. "The man! He's gone!"

"It's a big plane, Leese," he said in disgust.

"No! His clothes, everything! His watch, and look! A filling, right on top of his clothes! They're all left behind!"

Jackson sighed in exasperation and looked. He frowned bemusedly and shrugged. But Lisa saw the worried expression on his face as screams filled the plane. A blonde flight attendant raced down the aisle, tears streaming from her eyes. Lisa stood. Jackson caught her arm.

"What the hell did you do, Jackson?" she accused, pushing him away. "What did you do to all of these people?"

"Nothing!" he cried, running a hand through his long dark hair. "For once, I can admit I have no idea what's going on."

Lisa pushed past him and ignored his cries for her to come back. As she darted down the aisle she accidentally plowed into the man who'd helped the elderly.

"What's going on?" she begged him. He just shrugged helplessly and slid past her back to the old woman.

Jackson caught up with her and took her shoulders. Looking around, Lisa saw dozens of seats empty, all with clothes, glasses, jewelry, even hearing aids and such in a neat pile on the chairs. She began shaking as the captain came out from the cockpit.

"Everyone, please, return to your seats so we can figure this out," the handsome man ordered loudly. Lisa nodded and she and Jackson sat back down. Amidst the chaos she heard the nice man yelling for the upset people to sit. Finally Jackson stood up, disgruntled, and helped him.

Several minutes later the captain's voice came over the intercom.

"Folks, we're about halfway to our initial destination, but unfortunately they aren't landing any planes in London. We're going to turn around and head back to O'Hare. Fuel won't be a problem since, as I said, we're almost halfway. I urge you to remain calm, and once we're back in service phones will be available to call your loved ones, though I'm not sure you'll be able to get through. Again, please remain calm." Lisa could tell that he, like everyone else on the plane, had no idea what was going on but was staying collected for the sake of the passengers. He clicked off.

Lisa checked her watch a while later. It was almost five am. Great.

"Shit." She shifted irritably in her seat and Jackson looked at her.

"What's wrong now?"

"I'm going to miss my meeting," she sighed. He shrugged.

"I'm not going to get paid."

"Oh, poor baby," Lisa replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, well," he caught the mild look of relief on her face. "Oh, don't think for a minute that you're off the hook. You're still making the call. I was talking about my job in London after that."

Lisa's heart sank. "Oh."

"In fact," Jackson peered out the window and grabbed the phone. "It's time."

Lisa set the phone back in the receiver. "They don't work yet, genius."

Jackson cursed. "Shit. I forgot. Well..." He glanced helplessly around, and finally his gaze caught the nice man ahead of them, tampering with the phones. "Wait here."

"Hey," he uttered quietly, sliding into the aisle next to the man. He jumped.

"What?"

"Are you getting the phones to work?"

"No. I'm getting the modem hooked to my computer."

Jackson sighed. "Well..."

"Listen, if you want, I can tap out a message for you via email and if you get a response..."

"Really?" Jackson was relieved. "That'd be great. Um...the address is Thanks, man. Just ask for Cynthia, and if the large party is still coming in. From Lisa."

The man gave him a weird look. "You don't look like a Lisa."

"I'm not. Its for my...girlfriend."

"Uh...ok. You have a phone or anything that I can get ahold of you on? If she responds after the plane lands?"

"Yeah." Jackson gave him his number, and returned to his seat.

"Problem solved," he told Lisa smugly, and buckled back up.

"Go to hell," she snapped. Little did she know how literal people would take those words in the days to come.


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson heard the man approaching and turned.

"Hey," he greeted. Lisa looked up curiously. "I got an answer from your message. Really quickly, too. Surprising."

"Oh, good," Jackson replied quickly to prevent Lisa from speaking. "What's the verdict?"

"Cindy or wait, no–Cynthia, right? Says she is fine, but the large party is not coming," the man quoted. Lisa cheered inwardly. _Yes._

"What?" Jackson cursed loudly and drew heads.

The man shifted awkwardly. "The large party is-"

"Not coming, I understand," Jackson snapped. Lisa glared at him.

"Is the big party still here, or did they disappear as well?" Lisa questioned. Jackson swore several more times.

"Uh...by the air of her message, I think they're still here," he answered uncomfortably. "She said, 'No, he cancelled the reservation.'"

"Oh, okay," Lisa nodded cheerfully. The man gave her a polite nod and headed to use the restroom.

"Happy now, Leese?" Jackson snarled, rubbing his temples. "Now that this operation is officially fucked up?"

"Yes, actually," Lisa smiled contentedly. Jackson drew several deep calming breaths.

"So, when we land, we'll find a hotel until we can get out of Chicag-"

"We?" Lisa snapped her eyes to his. "Oh, no. When 'we' land, I'm getting as far away from you as possible."

"No, see, you're staying with me until Chaim flies over. He had a meeting in the States, so that means it was postponed. He'll be coming to the Lux in the near future, and I don't want to risk lovely Lisa running to the police."

"No..." Lisa felt tears forming and her anger bubbled. "I don't want to be stuck with you!"

"Well, its not my fault that these people disappeared!"

"It is that you're an ass!"

The man stepped back on his way back to his seat.

"Is there a problem?" he spoke directly to Lisa. Jackson shook his head.

"No, she-"

"Let me reword myself," he interrupted. "Miss, do you have a problem?"

_Yeah,_ she wanted to say. _Him! _But she caught Jackson's icy eyes boring into her head.

"No," she responded quietly, dropping her gaze to her wrung hands. "Just a little...stirred up after what happened."

He smiled sympathetically and leaned to pat her arm. Jackson glared at him. "Don't worry, ma'am," the handsome stranger consoled her kindly. "They'll find them." Lisa fed him a weak smile as he walked away.

"Good girl," Jackson crooned, mocking her. "When we get back to Chicago and the phone issue is straightened out, you'll call Cynthia back and ask when Rosenzweig reconfirmed his reservation for."

"Whatever," Lisa snapped, focusing her eyes on the seat ahead of her as the plane began its descent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cameron "Buck" Williams, internationally known journalist, settled back into his seat and put his laptop away as the plane began to land. He was exhausted. It had been hard work, screwing with those phone wires and even more so convincing the beautiful blonde flight attendant Hattie not to write him up for damaging Pan-Con property. He'd talked her out of it by promising to contact her relatives for her. And Buck Williams always kept his word.

He'd done more socializing tonight than he'd planned to. First with that elderly couple, now with that jerk and the hotel. The redheaded lady had been nice, though, although he strongly suspected something not so great was occurring between her and The Jerk.

When the plane landed the captain announced they'd have to use the emergency chutes to exit the plane. Buck groaned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A few moments later, Buck sheepishly jogged past the other passengers to the terminal, rubbing the back of his bloodied head. That's what he got for trying to show off. Served him right.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lisa watched the technologically advanced man run past clutching his head and scowled at Jackson as he pulled her tighter to him. He ignored her and she surveyed the damage.

It looked like Martians had bombed from Earth. Planes were down, cars crashed, clothes and bags littering the runway. Even baggage trolleys were tipped over and crashed. Lisa decided that when people had disappeared, their vehicles had been left in motion.

She caught Jackson simultaneously eyeing the wreckage with bewilderment and she cocked her head.

"So the master of mind games himself can be puzzled?" Lisa rolled her eyes. Jackson shrugged with apparent annoyance.

"'Spose so."

They walked the rest of the mile in silence. When they finally got inside the terminal Jackson pulled her even closer in the crowd. She frowned.

"I'll remind you that if you are stupid enough to try and run away from me, there's absolutely no where you can go," he said as they squeezed through hundreds of people.

"What?" Lisa hissed.

"Look outside, Leese, at the gridlock," Jackson gestured at the window. "There's no way you could catch a cab, or, seeing its you, steal an SUV, since no cars are easily getting out of here, and none at more than a snail's pace."

"Fine," she snapped. "So what's your plan, then, Flash Gordon?"

"Unlike you, I have money," he replied smugly, pulling her by her elbow outside to a line of waiting cabs and limos. Hundreds of people were fighting to get one.

Jackson pushed forward to speak to a drive but the driver shook his head. Frustrated, they went back into the terminal.

"What are we doing?" Lisa asked in confusion.

"Jesus Christ, Leese, do you ever quit with the questions?"

"Do you ever quit being a prick?" she snapped back.. He glared irritably at her.

"We're somehow buying our way out of here, and those cabs aren't going to help," he explained. "They're just going to get swamped."

Lisa nodded as an airline captain with a suitcase brushed past them.

"Hey!" Jackson called after him. He turned.

"What?" he said it politely but impatiently, checking his watch.

"You got a way out of here?" Jackson nodded at the suitcase.

"No," he shook his head, then sighed. "Yes, but I"m sorry, its for flight crew only."

"Please, I'll pay whatever," Jackson bargained.

"Pay a cabbie."

"No, listen, I..." Jackson ran a hand through his hair, obviously racking his brain for something that gave them a greater need to get out than all these other desperate people. "The cabs are too dangerous, they're being overcrowded, and uh...they're too dangerous for..." the captain began walking away. Lisa swallowed.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out. "I need to get home and the cabs are too dangerous."

The captain sighed. "Follow me."

Jackson raised an eyebrow as they ran after him. "Are you really?"

Lisa snorted quietly. "What do you think?" He chuckled, and they followed the captain outside.


	5. Chapter 5

A helicopter was waiting for them outside. Jackson helped Lisa up first and the pilot of the helicopter yelled something at the man who'd helped them. The captain quickly explained Lisa's predicament animatedly, and the pilot sighed impatiently as a blonde flight attendant joined the crowd.

Now, with Lisa, Jackson, the captain, the flight attendant, and the three additional pilots in the helicopter, the helicopter pilot was worried.

"I don't know if it can take the weight," he said warily.

"How much you guys weigh?"

"130," Lisa replied, adding on the pounds. She was, after all, pregnant.

"165," Jackson shouted above the chopper.

"120," the flight attendant said last.

"Fine," the pilot pulled on his headphones. "But if we start losing altitude, Rayford, you're going first."

The flight attendant sat on Rayford's lap due to space issues and then Jackson looked expectantly at Lisa.

"Oh, no," she shook her head.

"Leese, its that or you cling to the tail," Jackson shouted.

"Fine." She sat gingerly down and made a fist in case he dare touch her.

They started up in the air and Lisa felt sick.

"I'm Hattie Durham," the flight attendant extended a hand towards Lisa, the only other woman in the copter.

"Lisa Reisiert." She shook it.

"Where's this going, anyway?" Jackson asked the captain suddenly.

"Mount Prospect and the area around Chicago."

"So here's the deal, Leese," Jackson told her. "We'll find a hotel in Mount Prosp-"

"You expect to find a hotel in Proscpect?" the captain snorted. "No chance."

"Well, we need to, until we can get a ride into Florida, which won't be until planes are back in the air," Jackson replied irritably. The captain looked hesitant.

"Look, if its that important to you, you can..." he sighed, looking unsure. "You can just stay with me." Lisa startled. She knew that in the dawn of the crisis, all ethics and normality were being tossed out the window.

"No, we couldn't-" Lisa began politely, but Jackson interceded.

"That'd be great," he nodded. "Thanks."

"If you don't mind," Lisa added. The captain shrugged.

"I'm Rayford Steele," he extended a hand.

"Jackson Rippner," Jackson shook his hand over Lisa. "And Lisa Reisert, my girlfriend."

Jackson just smiled at Lisa while she glared daggers at him.

When they finally landed Rayford led Lisa and Jackson to his lovely suburban home, one which strongly reminded Lisa of her father's.

Rayford instantly dropped his bag and ran upstairs, yelling to Lisa and Jackson that they could use the phone.

"Jackson, I realize you don't want me to screw up the job, but please, _please_ let me call my parents and Cynthia," Lisa begged. She needed to, needed to know that they were okay.

"Fine. But after I need to call my guys."

Lisa instantly snatched it up and began dialing the Lux's number. Business first.

"Lux Atlantic Resort, this is Matthew." He sounded choked.

"Matt, its Lisa," she quickly responded. "Is Cynthia there?"

"No," he replied, startled. "Leese, haven't you heard?"

"No," Lisa felt her stomach muscles tighten.

"Cynthia...she killed herself when she found out her family all had disappeared."

"No," Lisa drew her breath in, sinking to the couch. "No, no, Cynthia wouldn't-"

"She did," now Lisa detected a tear in the young receptionist's voice. "And..."

"What, Matt?" Lisa replied, trying to be polite, but coming out more frantic. "Tell me."

"Thorton Mack called." Lisa thought. Thorton Mack...her father's neighbor.

"Yeah?"

"Your house...your father's house...its gone."

"What?" Lisa felt dizzy.

"Burned. He thinks it was because...the stove was left on." With no one to operate it...

"And...and my dad?" she asked. Though she felt she knew the answer.

"I'm sorry, Lisa."

"Bye, Matt," she whispered, then clicked off the phone and sank to the floor on her knees, engulfed in sobs. Jackson took one look at her before falling to the floor next to her.

"Sh," he took her in his arms. She gratefully cried into his shoulder, though she wasn't sure why. She hated him, hated him with every fiber of her being, and yet...she knew. She knew her mother had disappeared, she knew her father had, and she knew Cynthia was dead. And she knew that Jackson Rippner, no matter how much they hated each other, was all she had left.


	6. Chapter 6

Captain Rayford Steele, no longer dignified and haughty, curled up in a ball on his bed, rocking and sobbing. What an idiot. He'd been such a cocky, self-centered moron. And now Irene and Raymie were gone.

Not necessarily lost. He knew exactly where they were. Irene had frequently preached her Christian beliefs to him. Jesus Christ had come to rapture his church. And now Rayford Steele was among one of billions to be left behind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lisa finally pried herself away from Jackson and dragged herself up to lean on the couch.

"You okay?" Lisa was shocked at the expressive concern in his voice. She nodded but still felt slightly entranced.

"I'm as good as can be expected."

"But that's not exactly ok, is it?" Jackson replied, irony lacing into his raspy low voice.

"No, its not," Lisa wiped her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. A tight knob had begun to form in her stomach.

"So do you think he died instantly, in that fire?" he mused, not rudely but more as if pointing out that he probably did to Lisa.

"He didn't die in that fire."

"I thought you said..."

"The house burned, Jackson. He wasn't in it."

"I'm lost," Jackson threw up his hands. "I thought he died, in that house, during the fi-"

"My dad was a Christian."

Jackson blinked. "That's fantastic for him, Leese. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everythingto do with it!" she cried, intensely focusing her eyes on his. "The reason the house burned was because my dad disappeared. And do you now why he disappeared?"

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know. The guys in the whirlybird were talking aliens or nuclear reactions..."

"No!" she gripped his wrist. "My dad used to talk about it. Its Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ raptured his church, Jackson!"

Jackson ripped away from Lisa and stood up, distancing them. "If that's what gives you comfort, fine. But I'm not buying it."

"I'm not using it as a security blanket, Jackson," Lisa turned her head in disgust. "Its just the only solution that makes the most sense."

"So God took all the good people," Jackson hissed sarcastically. "That idea still has some serious holes, Leese. You're not a bad person. Why are you still here?"

Lisa deflated. "I...I don't know."

"So the master admits it," Jackson rolled his eyes coldly as Rayford stumbled back downstairs.

"Hey," he croaked. He looked a mess, his dress shirt untucked and wrinkled, his short hair tousled.

"Hi," Lisa murmured. Jackson excused himself to use the phone. Lisa scowled. Just when he'd begun to change, the damn insensitivity resurfaced again.

"Did you get in touch with your people?" Rayford leaned on the stair rail.

"Yeah. I..." tears formed in her eyes. She swallowed hard. "I'm alone. I lost my parents and a close friend."

Lines of angst crossed his face. "I'm sorry to hear that. My wife and son vanished as well. My daughter is still here though."

"That's good," Lisa encouraged, but his expression suggested otherwise. "So do you know why..."

"I have a hunch," he pulled his jacket off the coatrack.

"Where are you going?" Lisa stood alongside him.

"To find some answers," he replied fiercely. "You coming?"

Lisa glanced at Jackson's back to her in the hallway. Screw him. Nothing he could do to stop her now.

"Yeah," she followed him out the door without telling Jackson. "I'm coming."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chloe finally arrived at her house after a short plane ride. She didn't see her father's car and grew worried. Running to the house and flinging open the door, she cried, "Mom! Dad! Raymie!"

A thin man in a suit entered the foyer through the kitchen.

"Who are you?" she yelped. The man frowned. "Why are you in my house?"

"Your house?" he scowled. "Are you related to the guy who lives here?"

"I'm his daughter," her hands snaked behind her back for an umbrella. "Who are you?"

"Friend, I guess," he shrugged coldly. "Where's Lisa?"

"Who's Lisa?"

"We're staying here," the man snapped.

"How do I know you're not a looter?"

"Do I look like a looter?"

"What's my dad's name?"

"Ray...Raymond...something..." Chloe didn't hesitate to swing the makeshift weapon at him. He growled and yanked it away, then grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Listen," he yelled. "I've had enough of being physically assaulted within the past year. I'm starting to get pissed off, little girl, and if you don't believe me just wait until your fucking father gets home and ask him." He released her sharply and saw the tears in her eyes.

"I'm not a little girl," she grumbled. "I'm twenty."

"Fine."

"But is he...he didn't disappear?" she said hopefully. The man shook his head, his long brown hair flapping in his face.

"No. He's helping out my girlfriend and I until we can get a flight into Miami. Who, by the way, both left without telling me." Chloe eyed him, her suspicions ebbing away. But the guy was still weird, and slightly spooky.

"My mom and brother aren't here, then?"

"I don't think so. Your...dad, right? Went upstairs, for like half an hour, then came back downstairs all sad-like," he shrugged uncomfortably. "Sorry."

Chloe felt her stomach twist but hammered out introductions with the man Jackson Rippner. Then she turned on her heel and ran upstairs, hoping her initial instinct on the man was wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

1Rayford so badly missed Irene and Raymie. The pain formed a dull ache in the pit of his stomach that no tens of thousands of Tums could relieve.

But his newfound faith had given him hope. He knew that these next seven years would be the worst that the planet had ever experienced and yet, he wasn't all that worried. He knew in his heart that God would protect him as his needs suited, and if he happened to die, well, he would go to heaven and be reunited with Chloe in seven years, maybe sooner.

And Lisa was so, so sweet. Of course, he wasn't interested in her romantically. After all, she was just a few years older than his daughter. But then again...so was Hattie. He'd learned from his mistakes. He really hoped Lisa would stick around. As the only other Christian he knew spare Bruce Barnes, he'd need her support in the coming years. And she'd no doubt need his, along with his friendship. As far as he knew, since her father had died and her friend had taken her own life, she had none. Except Jackson, and he definitely couldn't be all secret handshakes and malted milkballs. And the conversation he'd had with the lanky man in the kitchen had really freaked him out.

Rayford had sat down with his plate of food to eat with Jackson. The girls were having 'girls only time' in the living room and screamed for Ray to get out when he had entered with his spaghetti. He laughed and chose to eat with the lone man in the kitchen.

Jackson had seemed so guardedly creepy and angry. Ray chose to avoid the avoid the subject of his anger. "So, Jack, what do you do for a living?"

Jackson sent him an icy, condescending glare as he lifted his head from his food. He contemplated Ray carefully and finally the frown turned to a smirk. "I'm in management. And its Jackson."

"Forgive me. Management of what?"

Jackson tipped back in his chair. "Truth?"

"Uh...yeah," Ray laughed nervously.

"Government overthrows, high-profile assassinations, the usual."

Ray laughed again. Jackson just smirked, stood, and cleared his plate. Ray stood as well and clapped him on the shoulder. "No, really, what do you do?"

Jackson grinned. "Already told you." Then he walked out. All Rayford could do was frown.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The power of persuasion was never one that belonged to Lisa Reisert. For one, she was a people pleaser and afraid to offend anybody in the slightest. For another, she was painfully shy.

So the evangelization thing was, all in all, not going well for her. For the most part, she left it to Rayford, as everyone seemed to listen to him. She supposed after hearing his life story, that that special trait was due in part to his military and pilot training that placed him as an authoritarian. Lisa prayed that some of this would rub off on her.

Rayford had left an hour or so ago and returned with five bags of groceries and three Bibles. One for Lisa, one for Jackson, and one for Chloe. The former received the gift with joy, the latter with disgust and slight amusement. Rayford ignored the snickers and assured Lisa that he'd be using Irene's old Bible.

Lisa sat in the kitchen with Rayford as he made them some tea and the two talked quietly.

"I'm going to lay the cards flat on the table, Ray," Lisa said firmly. "I'm going to admit that I told you a white lie. Well, maybe more of a grey lie, if those exist."

"They do in my book." He wiped his hands on a dish towel and pulled up a chair next to her. "Should I be worried?"

She smiled with a hint of melancholy. "You sound like my dad. No, you shouldn't. I just need to clear my conscience."

"I understand. You may proceed."

Lisa smiled at the formality and Rayford suppressed a guffaw.

"I'm not really pregnant," she admitted. "I made that up to get out of the airport. It was inconsiderate and childish of me and I hope you won't take offense."

"Of course not," he shook his head. "I'm not really surprised. I sort of knew all along."

"You did?"

"Yeah. You just...you didn't have the glow of a mother."

She smiled sadly. "Like your wife did?"

"Yes."

There was a silence, which was suddenly filled by the rapping on a door.

"I'll get it!" Chloe shouted from the living room. Ray sat back down and shrugged at Lisa.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Buck shifted nervously on the tailored steps after he rang the ritzy doorbell. This sure was a nice neighborhood, and a gorgeous house. It made sense. Rayford Steele was a pilot.Pilots made money.

He had raised his finger to ring again when a bouncy blonde woman threw it open. He grinned nervously.

"I-er-hi..."

"Hi," she frowned at him, obviously waiting for him to continue. She looked at his duffel and laptop bags. "Listen, if you're selling something, you really, really picked the wrong time."

"No, I'm-uh-looking for Mr. Steele...your...dad?" he bumbled on, turning red. He couldn't stop staring at her. She was so pretty, but there was something unique about her that he couldn't lay his finger on.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"Cameron Williams. Call me Buck."

The girl slouched. "Cameron Williams? Writer for Global Weekly?"

He smiled. "That's me."

"Come inside," he followed her in and called out, "To what does my humble father owe the honor?"

Buck didn't answer at first, his eyes drinking in the various family memorabilia lining the hallway. "What? Oh-uh-I kind of need a favor." He didn't elaborate.

They entered the kitchen and Rayford stood up as the girl introduced him. "Dad, this is-"

"Cameron Williams," Rayford grinned broadly and shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. Call my Ray."

"If you call me Buck."

"So, Buck, what do you need?" Rayford said it with a hint of formality, like he wanted to get back to the conversation with the redhead sitting at the table that Buck had walked in on. She seemed dimly familiar.

"Well, I need to get back to New York," he began.

"I'm not flying out again this week," Rayford shook his head. "I've got guests and, as you probably know, it's a really bad time."

"Oh, I know, and I'm so sorry to intrude," Buck nodded. "But I was actually wondering if you knew any emergency private pilots."

"As a matter of fact, I do," Rayford grinned. "Hold on, they're in my address book." He jogged out of the room and Buck looked back at the blonde, who was standing with her arms crossed awkwardly in the corner. He extended his hand.

"I don't think I caught your name," he prodded.

"Chloe," she shook his hand. "Chloe Steele."

"Well, Ms. Steele, may I ask what you do for a living?" She must've known that he was flirting with her, but she didn't put down the wall.

"I'm in college." Buck nearly jumped. That meant that she was nearly ten years his minor. But she looked so knowledgeable, so learned...he hid his newly found shyness by turning to the redhead.

"You look-"

"Really familiar, I know," she stood and laughed, shaking his hand. "Lisa Reisert. We met on the plane."

It took a minute for it to click. "Oh, you're the phone call woman. Now I remember." She smiled and nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Buck."

A thin man with shocking blue eyes skulked into the kitchen. Buck recognized him and greeted him warmly.

The man scowled. "Oh. You're the journalist guy who helped us on the plane."

"Yeah," Buck chuckled. "Small world, mm?"

The man nodded unsmilingly.

Rayford re-entered with an address and rattled it and a phone number off to Buck. Buck thanked him, engaged in a little more small talk, and finally departed. He knew it wouldn't be the last time he saw these people, and he memorized the address. He would definitely be seeing more of Chloe Steele.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N-Finals suck.**

Nicolae Carpathia straightened the shoulders of his sleek black Armani and energetically tapped his fingertips on the top of his hard pure marble desk. He stood as the short, pudgy man in the wrinkled business suit bustled in.

"Leon," Nicolae greeted him warmly, brotherly, spreading his arms graciously. His voice held only a small detection of his Romanian heritage. His English was better than most native speakers, and that was only one language. He spoke hundreds just as perfectly. "Please, sit down. We have so little time and so much to discuss." He never spoke in conjunctions. As a rule. Conjunctions were for people who spoke nervously.

"Yes—sir, Secretary-General, sir!" Nicolae tried not to feel annoyed. He needed this man to aid him in his quest. And yet, how could one at such high status be so stupid, so juvenile?

"Leon," Nicolae smiled broadly, his voice slow and patient. "How many times must I tell you? Call me Nicolae. After all, we do not yet know if I have been so graciously yielded the lofty position in the United Nations."

Leon beamed happily, waving an invoice into Nicolae's face. "Oh, don't try to play the humble one! You and I both know that you got the call this morning."

Nicolae shrugged modestly. "I do not wish to be conceited." He shuffled through the papers on his desk before finding the one he needed and cleared his throat. "Yes, Leon, have you been in touch with Mr. Rippner?"

Leon shook his head, his piggish locks slapping him in his fat face. "No, sir, I haven't. I did, however, speak to his second-best, if you will, who in turn called his boss. Mr. Rippner is very intrigued by your gracious offer."

Nicolae nodded, steepling his fingers. "You told of the price?"

"I did."

"Now," Nicolae continued. "Was this before, or after, these tragic disappearances?"

"It was just yesterday, sir."

"Now would this Mr. Rippner be willing to be a personal assistant—bodyguard, if you will—for myself or for you?"

Leon flushed nervously. "Well, I—I didn't approach that when we spoke--"

"I thought you did not speak?"

"I mean…I mean to his guy!"

"Oh, forgive me. Please continue."

"Yes, and…um…I just mentioned the personal…assassin…I guess bluntly-"

Nicolae shot Leon daggers, something unusual for his character. "You mean personal aid."

"Yes! Of course, Secretary General, sir!"

Nicolae rolled his eyes. "Would it be possible for you to get back into contact with Mr. Rippner again? Where is he?"

"Somewhere near Chicago, I believe. His man said he was finishing up an American job. Didn't know how long it would take."

"On second thought," Nicolae pondered, "perhaps I will contact him myself. I'm interested in speaking to the master himself. And I would like to request his assistance with me."

"Request?"

"Not really," Nicolae shook his head with a slight smirk. "I want Mr. Rippner for my staff. Only Mr. Rippner. If he is not willing to serve me, I am afraid that he will serve nobody."

"So you mean…"

"Yes," Nicolae chuckled quietly, his eyes twinkling mirthfully. "If Jackson Rippner does not come to work for me, then I can assure you, Leon, that he will certainly die."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: I am so extremely sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I've been so busy with everything else (eg, school, music, Model UN, other fics, my book) that this one has kind of fallen under the wayside. Thank you so much for putting up with me and all my hassle. Enjoy, and as always, please review!

Lisa wandered aimlessly around the Steele house, feeling useless, all morning before she finally stumbled upon an ancient upright piano in the family room. She gasped, rushing to it and sitting tenderly upon the worn maple bench. She stroked the smooth wood lovingly with her palms before resting her fingertips upon the keys of the piano. She'd didn't know how to play--but what better opportunity to learn than now? A weathered and yellowed booklet with the name HANDEL written with great embellishment on the front cover rested on the stand, so Lisa pulled it open and positioned herself to play.

When she realized, much to her displeasure, that she would be required to play more than one key at a time, she was put out. Her mind raced back to her junior high days in which she had attempted to learn the instrument to teach a boy. She'd barely begun to use both hands when he transferred schools, so she quit the abhorrent thing and took up field hockey instead. Now she was regretting that decision as the piano could be the one solution to her boredom.

The television was no longer a source of solace for her, but merely a continuation of the terrible news that had been filtering twenty-four seven from it for days. Lisa had attempted to stay glued to the screen for news on flights out, but gave up on that idea after growing ill at ease from the nauseating images of the world in distressed governed the mainstream news channels.

Lisa could count on one hand the days that she and Jackson had been cooped up in that house with the Steeles—three. It was only yesterday that she had ventured to New Hope with Ray to meet Bruce, but it seemed like decades ago. Rayford and Chloe could have easily been old college buddies as people they'd begged for help from three days ago. Lisa felt tremendously guilty over eating their food, using their facilities, and sleeping in their beds, but they insisted they were just pleased to help.

"After all," Ray added with a smirk just that morning, tapping the leather-bound Bible he had propped open on his lap. "Isn't that what this says we're supposed to do? Help our neighbors?"

"I'm hardly your neighbor," Lisa replied with a good chuckle. "But thank you. I'll repay you one day, I promise." He waved her off.

The last night, Lisa had stayed up well past two poring over the pages of the Word. The verses were addicting, the ideas that struck so true touched her and spurred her to tears. Naturally she grieved over the deaths of her father and Cynthia—after all it had only been yesterday!—but the comfort that the Bible, Ray, and Chloe so warmly offered helped to soothe some of the festering inside. Lisa just thanked her lucky stars—or, rather, God—that she had found these wonderful people to help her through this difficult time. She could only imagine what a wreck she would be if Jackson had taken her home and finished the job, offering no solace and continuing to abuse her.

Lisa accredited this whole experience to God himself now. There was no way around the fact that these disappearances could only be divinely orchestrated. It was just too weird and otherwise impossible—people did _not_ just disappear out of their clothing. It was physically and scientifically unfeasible, but if those people had had Jesus on their side, then that was a different story. She also felt that God had somehow led her to Ray, Chloe, and Bruce. The whole ordeal was just too perfect, meeting them. Never in her life—except with her parents, obviously, and Cynthia—had Lisa ever felt such an instant connection and unconditional love.

"What are you doing?"

Lisa spun around and came face-to-face with a very annoyed, very rumpled Jackson. He was dressed in his wrinkled suit, a change from Ray's discarded sweatshirts and jeans that he'd unwillingly donned for the past two days. His hair was wet and even from a distance he smelled strongly liked soap. The small patches of water that were spreading from his collar to his shoulders made Lisa wonder if he had even bothered to use a towel.

"I was playing the piano," Lisa stated matter-of-factly. "Well, trying to, anyway."

"Why?" Jackson muttered with a sneer. "Does God say that you'll go to heaven if you can play Chopin?"

His words stung, but not as much as the jabs he'd been making for a full twenty-four hours about Lisa and Ray's religious decisions. It had been foolish to try and persuade Jackson to join them—why ask Satan to join church group? Lisa wasn't surprised at his refusal of any sort of faith, but it was a bit odd that he kept nagging _her_ about it.

She so badly wanted to reply with something biting, something that would surely insult him, especially if accompanied by a crisp 'Jack', but she bit her tongue. "No," she said simply, turning back to the keys and trying to concentrate. Was that a C, or a G?

He briskly strode to her and clapped a hand on her shoulder, gripping tightly. Lisa glared at him and he scowled back, blue eyes narrowed. "We're leaving. Come on."

"I'm not leaving," Lisa gasped back, shocked. He wanted to leave? But why? There weren't any flights! "I'm staying."

"You're coming with me so we can finish this damn thing," Jackson snapped impatiently. "I need to get this wrapped up so I can move on to my next big job. Stand up. Get your things, tell Mr. Steele good bye."

"I _am not helping you kill Keefe,_" Lisa growled. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Jackson gripped her wrist and gave it a sharp twist. "I don't think you're an idiot, Lisa, but I _know_ you're one sentimental little bitch. You wouldn't kill these people sooner than Charles Keefe, now would you?"

"Don't do this," she pleaded, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "They haven't done _anything._ I promise, Jackson, if you leave us all alone and give up this job, I _swear_, I won't go to the police."

"Oh, how kind of you," Jackson scoffed. "How saint like of you."

Lisa stood abruptly and began to walk from the room. Jackson caught her arm again but she jerked away, her hand flying into the air and sliding across his face. It happened slowly and Lisa hadn't meant it, but as soon as her palm thwacked against Jackson's cheek, she saw his eyes change from irritated to livid. He instantly grabbed hold of her shoulders and tried to shove her against the wall, but she anticipated this and moved a bit to the side at the last minute. Jackson's grip was instead sent to her hair, and he accidentally grabbed a section of curls. He used this to his advantage, his fingers crawling up her scalp and yanking her by her hair to face him.

Lisa stumbled to find her footing as her neck stretched to face Jackson, her head burning in pain. She attempted to scream, but Jackson twisted his other hand across her mouth. Her attempts to fight against him were futile, and she merely writhed in his grasp.

Jackson leaned close to her face, his breath hot on her cheeks. "You are going to come with me without any further questioning," he spat quietly, "or they _die_. Each and every one of them will _die_ if you continue to test my temper."

Lisa felt fat tears sliding from beneath her eyelids as Jackson pushed her away. She crumpled to the floor, her face in her hands, and miserably nodded her unwilling compliance. There was nothing else she could do.

"…_not helping you kill Keefe,_" Chloe heard Lisa hiss firmly. She nearly lost her footing as she held in a faint gasp, feeling lightheaded. They were _murderers._ Or at least he was. She _knew_ something was off about that man, Jackson Rippner. Of course! He wanted to kill the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, Charles Keefe. And Lisa was to help him? Or what? Were they partners? "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"I don't think you're an idiot, Lisa, but I _know_ you're one sentimental little bitch. You wouldn't kill these people sooner than Charles Keefe, now would you?" Lisa's cry of pain masked Chloe's involuntary gasp of realization. These people. _These_ people. Her. Her dad. They were what was forcing Lisa to help Rippner. She shuddered and fought to remain upright as she peered around the corner, watching in a dreamlike state as Lisa desperately pleaded with Rippner to leave them all alone. It was when Lisa stood and attempted to make her way to the door that Chloe hastily moved away, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. When she heard Lisa squeak fearfully, she ducked her head quickly back around the corner. It took her only a peek before her mind was made up.

She ran quietly up the stairs, throwing open her father's door. He was stretched sleepily out on his bed, slouched over his Bible. Again. "Dad!" she gasped urgently. "Lisa and Jackson—Jackson's—he's—Lisa's being hurt!"

Ray lept from the bed and pushed past Chloe, thundering downstairs. Chloe followed, tripping over her feet in her hurry.

Lisa's eyes flew open as she heard a heavy crash and then a yell. She raised her head just in time to see Ray slamming Jackson forcefully against the wall. Jackson's head knocked off it, making Lisa feel dizzy just watching.

"Don't you_ ever_ touch her again!" Ray yelled. "You no-good son of a--"

The doorbell rang then, which for some reason caused every eye in the room to shift about nervously. Lisa detected a movement in the doorway and saw Chloe run away. _She must have seen everything._

Ray took a deep breath and relinquished his grip on Jackson. Jackson pushed away from the wall, straightening his jacket and staring distastefully at Ray while his lip curled in disgust. "Get out of my house. Now."

Obviously, Jackson was not intimidated. "Not without Lisa."

"Lisa, call the cops," Ray ordered, not looking at her, his hands clenching. Lisa grabbed the phone on the wall and quickly dialed, watching Jackson watch her the whole time. His eyes were glistening with amusement now.

It just rang. And rang. And rang. Lisa hung up after five minutes. "It's—it's busy at the moment, I think--"

Jackson laughed loudly. "The police are too busy with all the dead people to worry about some useless old man and his paranoia. Are you that pathetic, Rayford, that you can't take on a man half your size? That you're fighting him about something that doesn't concern you at all?"

"He told you to leave," came a voice from the doorway. "I suggest you do so now, because I wouldn't want to hurt you." Lisa looked up. Cameron Williams.

Jackson snorted. "Don't you think that's just a little bit dramatic?"

Cameron stepped forward, his jaw set and his cheeks pink. He stared, long and hard, at Jackson for what seemed like a long time. Jackson finally backed away, hands in the air.

"Fine," he snarled. "I'll leave." But as he left, Lisa watched as he spat at Ray. The saliva landed on Ray's cheek, slowly sliding down his neck, but he did not react. He closed his eyes and stood there, shaking with pent-up rage, as Jackson pushed past Lisa.

"I'll be seeing you, Leese," he muttered as he shoved past her and left, slamming the door behind him.

There was dead silence for a few moments, in which Ray calmly gathered his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. Lisa had been looking in humiliation at the floor, but drew her eyes upward to see every single person in the room staring at her. She burst into tears and Ray caught her as she slid to the floor.

"I am so, so sorry," she sobbed as Ray rubbed calming circles on her back. "All of this is my fault, I never should have dragged you people into it!"

"Leese, it's not your fault that your boyfriend is a demented psychopath with a hidden agenda," Chloe soothed. "He didn't hurt us. We're fine."

"He is _not_ my boyfriend," Lisa snapped angrily. "Never in a million years!"  
"I'm confused," Cameron said with a frown. "Then why do you associate with him? It's not like he's that friendly of a guy."

Lisa bit her lip and took a deep breath. "We better sit down."


End file.
